


Either Way I Die

by canufeelthemagictonight



Series: Either/Or [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Bombs, Character Death, Deathfic, Declarations Of Love, Evil Grant Ward (mentioned), Explosions, F/M, Fitz baby what did I do to you?, Heavy Angst, I'm Sorry, I'm so sorry, Inspired by The Dark Knight, Jemma I'm so sorry please forgive me, Love Confessions, Not Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2 Compliant, POV Female Character, Please Don't Hate Me, The Author Regrets Everything, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-17 19:04:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4677887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canufeelthemagictonight/pseuds/canufeelthemagictonight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Just...just talk to me, Fitz," she murmurs, closing her eyes and pretending he's flashing that dorky little smile her way. "Let's pretend this isn't happening and just...talk. About science, about monkeys, about anything. Just till they come." </i>Just till it's time to die.</p><p>HYDRA has placed Jemma and Fitz in two locations miles away from each other, the bombs under both their seats set to go off at the exact same time. They each have a radio, so they can communicate with one another, but only one can be saved.</p><p>No matter who Coulson and Company choose, both of their lives will be changed forever.</p><p>AU inspired by the hostage scenario in <i>The Dark Knight.</i> Much Fitzsimmons. Very dark. So tragic. Wow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Either Way I Die

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I watch _The Dark Knight._ I'm sorry, but I can't help but think of our science babies in every possible situation (some situations worse than others). Someone stop me before I break everybody's hearts.
> 
> Disclaimer #1: If you are a SWW-er, do not read. Ward is not a good guy in any of my stories. Ever.
> 
> Disclaimer #2: I own nothing, and this never happened in canon. Thank God.

She awakens in a cold, dark room, lit only by a single lightbulb that's growing dimmer all the time. Her hands are tied behind her back, her shoes have mysteriously gone missing, and her hair (which she knows for a fact was in a ponytail this morning) is currently flying wild down her shoulders. The room is empty except for herself and several barrels of gunpowder surrounding her chair, and is that _gasoline_ on the floor?

 _Where the heck am I?_ thinks Jemma bitterly, her face twisting into a scowl. Memories return to her mind like bees to a hive—Garrett incapacitated by Fitz's attempt to fight back, Ward ignoring their pleas for mercy and shoving chloroform into her face, and Fitz, crying, begging her to _stay with me, Jemma, c'mon, we can take them, don't close your eyes, Jem, please don't close your eyes—_

Well, she didn't listen, and now here she is. Alone. No Fitz, no Garrett, no Ward, no anyone.

Not that she particularly _wants_ to see Garrett right now. And as for Ward, she'd be perfectly happy to never see that scumbag HYDRA traitor's lying face ever again. It's the _team_ she wishes was here, May and Coulson and Skye and Trip and Fitz… _oh, Fitz…_

_Where is he? What have they done to him? Is he hurt? Has he been tortured? Is he—_

She shuts off her train of thought before it can reach the d-word. No, Leo Fitz is still alive, he _has_ to be, otherwise why didn't they just kill her too? HYDRA wouldn't only kill _half_ of Fitzsimmons when they have the whole equation at their mercy.

 _First things first,_ she reminds herself. She has to get out of this… _wherever_ they're keeping her before she starts worrying about where they've got Fitz. She's _Jemma Simmons_ for heaven's sake, she can think her way out of problems without a man at her side. What did those nut jobs _think_ those PhDs were for? Decoration?

She spends the next five minutes attempting to wriggle out of the knots currently enveloping her hands—and failing. Miserably. _How did Houdini manage?_ she wonders idly, struggling against the ropes while simultaneously scanning the room to see if she can spot anything useful. A knife, maybe, or a signaling device, or a…

_Jackpot._

There's a radio resting against the window, not too far away from where Jemma's tied up. Not a normal play-some-tunes radio, either; obviously it's the kind of radio used to communicate, which leads her to suspect that her captors might have put it there for a reason. Next to it is some sort of timer _(for what?_ her anxiety whispers) counting down from ten minutes and two seconds. The latter device seems to be connected to something underneath her chair, which makes her even more uneasy than she already was, but she decides (for the sake of her own sanity) to file it under _things it'll do no good thinking about right now._

She puts her epic battle with the ropes on pause and inches towards the radio, taking care not to fall out of her chair while she's at it. She's practically on the edge of her seat when—

"Jemma?"

She'd know that Scottish accent anywhere. "Fitz!" she shouts into the darkness, his name echoing around her prison. "Oh, thank God!" _The radio, it_ must _be the radio, I_ knew _that thing was there for a reason._ "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." He pauses. "Well…mostly." Then, in a rush of reassurance, "I've just got a bruise, that's all. On my eye. I'm honestly not sure if it's black or not, nobody bothered to leave me a mirror, but it's stopped hurting, so that has to count for something." She can practically hear him shrug. "Guess that's what happens when you don't sit back and take your chloroform like a good little boy."

"Oh, _Fitz."_ Jemma rolls her eyes, yet smiles in spite of herself. "Don't tell me you tried to go all Captain America while I was out."

"I stepped on his toes," says Fitz sheepishly. "Twice."

She can tell he's reluctant to say Ward's name, and she's reminded of the tears in his eyes as their former friend advanced on them with a gun in one hand and that dam chloroform in the other. He'd been the only one to believe there was still good in Ward, and she remembers his excuses all too well…

_…he wouldn't, he must have that thing in his eye, I know you care about us, Ward, it's a choice!…_

Fitz has never liked being wrong, a trait he and Jemma both share. And this time, there's tears in her eyes as she wishes that, just once, he had been right.

But, of course, he hadn't. Ward is evil. And Fitzsimmons are paying the price.

_He jumped out of that plane to save my life…he helped Fitz through his first real mission…and all this time he was only a backstabbing snake._

She hates the man with a white-hot intensity stronger than anything she's felt in her life.

"Where are you?" she asks, steering the subject away from their friend-turned-foe.

"Brooklyn." He's trying to sound brave, but the quiver in his voice betrays him. "Garrett told me…'n' you're in Manhattan, but…Jem…" He trails into silence.

 _Psychically linked,_ Skye once said, and in a way, she's right. Living as Fitzsimmons—as two parts of a well-oiled whole—for so long...well, it's attuned them to each other's thought process in a way nobody else could ever understand. And now, a shiver runs across her body as she realizes there's something he isn't telling her. Something he can't _bring_ himself to tell her.

"Fitz?" she whispers nervously.

After what seems like a thousand years of silence, Fitz speaks again. "There's a bomb," he murmurs. "Under your seat. Mine, too." She can practically see the frightened tears in his eyes. "Once time runs out, it's..."

"...it's going to blow." She snatches a glance at the still-ticking timer, and the awful realization turns her knees to jelly. "We're going to die up here."

"No, no, listen." He's talking a mile a minute, as if his words can somehow postpone death for just a little while longer. "Garrett...Garrett said only one of us has to die. There's just enough time on the clock for somebody to be rescued, and...he said he's letting our friends choose."

 _So that's how HYDRA's playing this game,_ thinks Jemma bitterly, all thoughts of escape flying out of her head. Two locations, two bombs, one clock...she should have realized their ploy sooner. Garrett and Ward are placing their lives in the team's hands when they know full well that there isn't enough time to save them both. That way, no matter who dies, it'll be Coulson and Company's fault for not being bloody quick enough, and the two backstabbers can just mua-ha-ha right in their former friends' faces.

_Some men just want to watch the world burn._

"It's going to be all right, Fitz," she says, struggling to keep her voice calm. "They're coming for you."

"They're coming for both of us," he insists, not willing to admit defeat just yet.

But she knows better.

They'll come for Fitz, of _course_ they'll come for Fitz, he's more important to the team than she'll ever be. Coulson and Company can always find another biochemist, but an engineer of Fitz's caliber is one in a million. Yes, they're _bound_ to come for Fitz, they _have_ to...which by default means they won't come for her.

So she might as well try to make the most of these moments, since she only has seven minutes and forty-six seconds left of life.

"Just...just talk to me, Fitz," she murmurs, closing her eyes and pretending he's flashing that dorky little smile her way. "Let's pretend this isn't happening and just...talk. About science, about monkeys, about anything. Just till they come." _Just till it's time to die._

"Speaking of monkeys..." He understands. Of course he does. "I saw this National Geographic documentary last night, and did you know that capuchin monkeys have the highest brain-to-body weight ratio of all primates? Including humans?"

"I did, but what on _earth_ were you doing on National Geographic when you were supposed to be sleeping?"

"I wasn't tired."

"Oh, God." Jemma sighs. "You were up all night, weren't you?"

"...yeah..."

_"Leopold Fitz."_

"I wasn't _tired,_ Jemma! How was I supposed to fall asleep when there were so many interesting things to discover?"

"Yes, well, you _know_ how cranky you get when you're sleep deprived..."

"Besides, it's not like _you've_ never pulled an all-nighter in pursuit of some scientific theory or other. Pot, meet Kettle."

"Point taken."

She's forgetting the danger, forgetting the bombs, forgetting that her life is almost over. As far as she's concerned, they're in the lab, arguing through smiles while putting together their latest formula or prototype. He's doing his little self-depreciating shrug, and she's rolling her eyes at his adorable stupidity, and life is the same as it's always been. No one is going to die. Not now. Not ever.

 _Twenty-seven years, and ten of them were with you, and oh_ God, _Fitz, I don't want to go, but I'll do it, I'll_ do it _if it means saving you..._

They ramble on, a pair of chattering chimpanzees trying to stop a hurricane. They talk of monkeys and science and SHIELD and memories from way back when, and she pretends he's holding her hand and pulling her into one of his awkward-yet-warm hugs, and all the time the seconds tick away.

But when the clock hits three minutes and counting, both of them know they can't pretend any longer.

"Jemma..." His voice is somehow calm despite the anxious quiver within. "Jemma, just in case I don't make it, there's something I need to say—"

"Don't talk like that, Fitz!" she cries, fighting to hold back tears. "They're coming for you!" There is no alternative. They're coming for him or they're not coming at all, because no _way_ is she going to lose that boy, no freaking _way—_

"I don't _want_ them to come for me!"

Her heart nearly stops.

In hindsight, she really ought to have expected this. After all, this _is_ Leo Fitz we're talking about, and Leo Fitz has always been too loyal for his own good. (See: Grant Ward.) But how to make him understand that he's the one who needs to live? That he has so much to give this world and she isn't going to let him sacrifice his potential just so hers can last a little while longer? That it doesn't even matter in the end, because it's in the team's hands, but if she was the team, she'd pick him? That she'll always pick him, no matter what, forever, the whole dam time?

He needs to _survive,_ damit. How is she going to get that through that thick head of his?

"I want them to come for you," he says, and she can sense the pleading undertones beneath the statement. "I couldn't live if you didn't."

A bitter laugh escapes her chest. "And how do you suppose _I_ feel?" she practically spits at the radio. "Do you think I _want_ to see you go up in flames?" Then, in softer, sadder tones, "One of us has to die, Fitz, and better you than me."

"It's just...I think..." He's crying now, honest-to-goodness _sobbing,_ and those three little words slip out from in between his tears. "I love you."

She blinks. No, she did _not_ just hear that. Not now. Not from Fitz. She must have misheard him (I _glove_ you? I _shove_ you?). Either that, or one of her wildest dreams has somehow slipped into her nightmare.

Ten seconds of her life fritter away before she can force herself to respond. "Sorry?"

"I love you." _Oh, God, I_ did _hear him properly._ "Honest to God I do. I don't know how it happened, but...it kind of crept up on me, and War—somebody told me I ought to spit it out before it's too late, but I didn't listen, and now it _is_ too late, but better late than never, right?" He barrels on like a car going a hundred miles per hour and headed straight for a ditch. "I love you, Jemma Simmons. I love your smile, I love your science, I love the way you make me laugh when I'm upset, I love every little thing about you and I'd rather die right here than live without you, and if that makes me selfish, I'll _be_ selfish, and...oh, God..."

In any other circumstance, Jemma's tears would've been happy ones. She would've smiled wider than the Grand Canyon and pulled Fitz in for a passionate kiss while her heart sang in the background.

But this...this is different. They're about to die. _She's_ about to die, because despite everything he said, she's still holding out hope that they'll come for him. Perhaps _she's_ the selfish one.

And the tears she cries are of anguish and might-have-beens as she murmurs, almost inaudibly, "I love you too, Fitz."

One minute remaining—she closes her eyes—she breathes deeply and hopes it won't hurt—

And then, the door comes down, and there's Melinda May with steel in her eyes, and Skye's right behind her clutching the I.C.E.R. Fitz designed, and now they're rushing over to her chair and the worst realization in the world punches her in the gut.

"No!" she screams as May hoists her to her feet and slings her like a rag doll over her shoulder. "No, not me, _why are you coming for me?!?"_ The second Skye snips her hands free, she's beating May's back with small, ineffectual fists. _"Fitz,_ you gotta get _Fitz!"_

"Simmons, _calm down."_ says May in her that's-an-order voice. "Coulson and Trip—"

But Jemma isn't listening anymore. "Fitz!" It's too late, it's already too late, no matter what Coulson and Trip may or may not be doing, and oh, _God,_ why are they saving her when they could be saving him? This shouldn't be happening, it _can't_ be, not to _him..._ "Fitz! _Fitz!"_

As they exit her former prison, Skye manages to grab the radio from its perch. "Fitz?" she calls tentatively into it. "You there?" 

"Yeah." For some strange reason, any trace of tears is gone from his tone. "I'm here."

The sound of his voice—the indirect confirmation that the boy she loves is still breathing—calms Jemma down a bit. "Fitz, they're coming for you, right?" she shouts in the radio's general direction. "Trip and Coulson? Tell me they're coming for you!"

And yet...there are only twenty seconds left on the clock. Not enough. Nowhere near enough.

She's vaguely aware of being yanked out of the building, but all she truly registers is his voice—no longer shaking, no longer scared, a calm beacon of comfort in her crumbling world. "Jemma, it's okay, really, it's okay." He keeps talking and she clings to his voice, his tone, his accent, her mental image of his face. "It's gonna be fine, Jemma, all right? Everything's gonna be—"

_Zero._

They're on the sidewalk when the building explodes in a raging fire that reminds her of the flames of hell, lapping up their lives in orange clouds of smoke. The radio in Skye's hand gives out to static.

And Jemma Simmons breaks.

She screams his name a thousand times into the cool night air, twin sets of waterfalls running down her cheeks, her normally organized mind a mess of fire and pain. A flood of Fitz-related memories wash through her body—that first shaky smile he flashed her way at the Academy when she complemented his work, his nonstop questions during every class ever, that oh-wow-this-is-really-happening look on his face when they graduated, his infamous "concentration face," his indignation when she left that cat's liver next to his lunch, the pride with which he told her of his first solo mission, and especially the determination in his eyes when she had that awful virus and he told her that _we're going to fix this. Together._

 _You said_ together, _Fitz. How in the name of every god there is can you call this mess_ together?

"Agent May," calls Coulson from the comlink on the Calvary's belt. "Come in, Agent May. Agent May?"

May grabs the comlink and raises it to her lips. "May here. We have Simmons. Repeat, we have Simmons." Her normally calm and stable voice betrays the slightest of shakes. "Please tell me you got Fitz out of there."

There's silence for a grand total of four seconds, and for a moment, Jemma allows herself to hope.

But all too soon, that hope comes crashing down.

"We were so close." Coulson sounds like he's been crying. "We were just outside the building when it blew."

As Coulson confirms what Jemma already knew, she lets out a fresh wave of heatrenching sobs as the last bit of color fades away from her world. Skye (who's barely holding back tears herself) lets the now-useless radio fall to the ground and places a trembling hand on Jemma's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jemma," she whispers, and Jemma's never seen a person look _more_ sorry in her life. "I'm so freakin' sorry."

Jemma knows she means well, but she can't help but feel the tiniest bit of animosity towards Coulson and Company. It's their fault she's alive instead of Fitz, it _should_ have been Fitz, they should've pooled all their resources into Fitz and left her to burn, instead of doing this split-up method that only worked for her. Garrett and Ward are the ones who killed him, but it was Coulson and Company's responsibility to save him. And they didn't.

And now, their attempts at sympathy mean nothing, because it's _too freakin' late._

He's gone, _gone,_ turned to ashes, there isn't even a body to bury, she'll never see his smile or his pout or his "concentration face" ever again, she'll never get to feel his warm arms around her ever again, and the could-bes of their relationship are now forever might-have-beens.

Fitz is dead, and for all intents and purposes, so is she.

**Author's Note:**

> So...yeah. That's it. No happy Marvel comeback this time. As far as this series is concerned, RIP Leopold Fitz.
> 
> And yes, I said "series." There will be more. I didn't have the heart to give Jemma the horribly burned face Harvey got in the movie, but rest assured she will be taking a rather... _dark_ turn in future installments. A certain HYDRA traitor had better watch himself...
> 
> Comments are appreciated!
> 
> *whispers* _I'm so sorry..._


End file.
